


Screwdriver

by RyuichiroSakuraba



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Another Episode
Genre: Fluff, I Tried, M/M, Rare Pairings, Shota, Underage - Freeform, unusual pair, when boredom strikes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 21:14:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7656976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyuichiroSakuraba/pseuds/RyuichiroSakuraba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bike maintenance is way different than launching robots to space. Bottom line, those need tight-fitting screws, no?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Screwdriver

**Author's Note:**

> Yukimura's ID card slightly made me wonder how would it be if he got paired with someone. Redheads are my weakness, so throw in a Daimon and this unusual fic is born.
> 
> Danganronpa is not mine. If it was, I'll dote on these two for eternity.

“Oi.”

The redhead kid paid no heed, or maybe just too busy trying to figure out which part goes to which. Having been saved by the highly-optimistic Naegi and the downright scary Genocider, Daimon had nothing else to do in the cold, post-apocalyptic Avalon in some god-forsaken city; an old basement of a decrepit building that was too dusty for comfort yet enough to be considered a safe haven for refugees like him.

An annoyed sigh didn’t break his concentration; he was so into assembling a tiny machine which could act as a drone to survey the perimeter outside or something that he could play with – he learned quite a bit from handling his own robot during that dark time which he wasn’t so fond of revisiting. Seriously, all work (which 90% of it was plain surviving) and no fun made Daimon a dumb boy.

Well, a _ka-tonk_ in the head would make him more stupid.

Probably.

“Idiot. They were handing out rations. Do you even know what time it is?” the irritated voice remarked, muffled by incessant chewing of random food they salvaged from a worn-down supermarket along the way. “Starvation causes stupidity and delayed growth, whichever comes first.”

That did it.

“Alright! Alright! I get it, bastard,” Daimon exclaimed, standing up from the dirty floor, stomping and turning around to face his sort-of guardian at the moment. “Geez Gontakerus, I’m trying to do something productive here.”

The silver-haired young man’s eyebrow rose, staring at the uncompleted mumbo-jumbo of electronic parts on the floor. “Noted. Neglecting proper nutrition doesn’t count as productive, or so Fujisaki-san stated,” he continued, a strip of dehydrated mango gradually disappearing into his mouth.  

Huffing his cheeks and flaring red in anger for being interrupted from his Zen moment, the redhead abruptly snatched the crinkling bag of dried fruit from the taller guy, pouting like a kid he was as he chucked his hand in it and fishing for a good-sized piece.

Metallic. The taste was coppery, which melded rather interestingly with the sweet-tart taste of the treat (or ‘meal’) he just pilfered.

The elder one clicked his tongue, shifting his weight on his right as canted his head a bit sideways, appearing bored yet his stoic features radiated a sliver of concern.

“Seriously, what am I going to do with you?”

With that, he stepped closer to the tiny boy, raised his wifebeater, revealing a loop of white cloth wrapped around his lower torso. Ripping a small piece from it, he split it in half before gently holding the other’s slightly bleeding index finger and wrapping the makeshift bandage around the wound.

“I know you’re a bit smarter than me, but keep on using a penknife to drive screws and you’ll lose more than a finger,” he lectured sternly, though it lacked the bite due to his constant chewing. It’s hard to sound authoritative when your mouth is full.

Daimon lightly jabbed the other’s solar plexus and ran the newly-bandaged finger under his nose to hide his embarrassment. “Of course, I know that,” he mumbled, catching a slight whiff of grease, cigarette smoke (he thought he would gag, but oddly enough, he didn’t), sweat, mangoes and something warm.

_Like home._

“As long as you understand,” the taller replied in a light baritone, shrugging as he slid his shirt down. “It’s my turn to do the food raid later. Anything that you would like?”

He was met with silence; the redhead might still be a bit angry due to his abrupt interruption. Being addressed by his hit-list name probably meant he was still not in good terms with his charge.

Still long ways to go.

Turning around and pacing towards the stairs, Daimon watched the biker walk away until the said guy suddenly stopped and threw a small box towards him _without even looking_.

Processing that it was for him to catch ( _“See, I’m not that stupid!”_ ), he held his arms high and jumped until the projectile collided with the bag of snatched dried fruit, its tell-tale crinkling echoing inside the barren ruins.

And was he bit surprised at seeing what it was.

…a rather simple case with Hope’s Peak Academy High School insignia embossed on it.

“It’s under your care now, hm?”

Smiling a bit, Daimon clutched the item near his chest, despite not knowing what was inside. It’s the first time he was given something freely and not from obligation - not to mention leaving him a treat that was supposed to be for the elder.

“Get back in one piece, you hear me Takemichi?”

The other guy stiffened for a few moments before turning sideways, peeking over his shoulder, head raised high in confidence, his lips curling a tiny bit upward.

“Loud and clear, Masaru. I’ll be here in a few hours.”

* * *

Two hours later, he groaned a bit, waking up from the dingy floor, hints of pain wracking his body from sleeping at such an uncomfortable position. Wiping a bit of drool from his mouth, his thought process cleared up, only to realize that he dozed off while finishing up his scout drone, the scent of his sort-of guardian washing all over him.

He still held on the mini-screwdriver from the kit, and a jacket several sizes larger than him covered his small body in a poor yet kind-of effective attempt to ward off the cold.

Yukimura splayed unceremoniously not so far beside him, head on one arm, eyes closed peacefully, sporting a few bruises, wifebeater riding up, hand absent-mindedly scratching at the loosened, slightly bled-over sarashi.

Daimon mentally debated if he would make an automated bandage autoclave or a portable bike polisher soon. And he should probably ask who’s Owada later.

“Tch. I think I told you to get back safely, not battered, bastard,” he whispered to himself, feeling a bit thankful that his guardian was okay at the very least.

The silverette opened one eye and gazed at the kid.

“I heard that, idiot,” Yukimura deadpanned, flipping sideways to face the redhead’s direction, only to give out a mildly pained sigh due to his injuries, curl up and lay his head on his arms, aiming to get some more shuteye.

“I’m home.”

Daimon was not usually flustered, and his not-so-innocent mind wasn’t helping any further. Although he was used to despair, having a bit of blossoming hope didn’t sound so bad after all.

“Welcome home.”

 

 

 

 

 

OMAKE

Loss of privacy wasn’t a big deal for Daimon; they were both young men anyway. Of course, he was athletic in his peaceful elementary school days, and being in the locker rooms and shower stalls, it was typical to see anything within and beyond the imagination.

“Thank you, idiot,” Yukimura said flatly, his arm extending from the shower that hid literally nothing; he just pushed it away in response to Daimon’s arrival to bring him a towel and fresh bandages.

 _“He didn’t even bother pulling them back, that bastard,”_ he mentally scowled, trying his best not to ogle at his guardian’s features while he was rinsing the sudsy mess on his perpetually out-of-control silver hair. _“Takemichi doesn’t like female “Demons”, so male ones should be okay?”_

“Something wrong, Masaru?” Yukimura said in the midst of the shower stream, shampoo suds flowing freely; and with his stoic yet concern-tinged tone and slight frown, he just wiped all the other ‘targets’ on the redhead’s ‘ _hit_ -list’.

…as if there’s anyone else there.

Annoyed more to himself and his perverted train of thoughts rather than the indecent display that the guardian was obliviously handing out on a silver platter, he shook his head violently and screeched, pointing at the silverette with the index finger that healed nicely a long time ago.

“You’re still on my hit-list, bastard!”

Sensing nothing out of the ordinary banter, the taller invoked his usual aloof persona and deadpanned at the shorter boy in a towel. “I’m honored then.”

“And you’re hogging all the hot water!”

“…oh. I didn’t notice.”

Emotions hindered rationality, and it was no different for a certain hot-tempered redhead.

“I’m stepping in!”

“W-wait!”

“Oh no, you don’t,” Daimon stated with finality, chucking the tiny fluffy towel on the hook and snatching the shampoo bottle. He started beating his usual spiky hairstyle into a messy mop under the warm spray, an elbow bumping on the elder’s chest rather violently – he wasn’t the Super Elementary School Level Physical Education Student for nothing. It was definitely on purpose. No one messed with Daimon and got away with it.

 Seconds later, he became conscious what his subconscious was telling him all the while, though he would definitely deny it.

At least for a teeny tiny bit.

“Better this way. Saves water. Saves time. Right?” the redhead muttered rhetorically, trying to calm his heated nerves until the bottle was recovered from his other hand.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

How he became attached to the bastard, he had no idea.

A flick of the cap later and two bigger hands were scrubbing his scalp firmly yet comfortably. He could fall asleep that way, but that’s not the real issue.

“I don’t mind.”

Betraying his logical mental state, he looked up a tiny bit to see Yukimura gazing at the air duct near the ceiling, the tips of his guardian’s ears a slight pink – from the water temperature or something else, he wouldn’t know.

 

 

Apparently, they missed the sound of scissors snipping, incessant giggling and dreamy moaning in the storage closet nearby.

**Author's Note:**

> Compared to Li'l Ultimate P.E., I tend to prefer longer talent descriptions for the Ultimates, so please pardon Daimon's title.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this. If not, thanks for giving this a shot. :)


End file.
